Triumvirate
by FromWayBackWhen
Summary: Jisella Lorian is just another Resistance doctor. Important, but no one of significance. At least, she isn't until Poe Dameron manages to charm her into a date, not only garnering the attention of D'Qar, but of a certain First Order general who's convinced she's the key to destroying the Resistance once and for all. [Poe/OC, Hux/OC. AU; starts Pre-TFA.]
1. An Ordinary Day

**A/N: ** Hi everyone, and welcome to my story! This is my first foray into the _Star Wars _fandom and I am a touch terrified, but excited. As such please excuse any issues with canon—I'm certainly not the most well-versed (sadly I don't have the time for reading all the novelizations/comics), and this story is more about the characters than the world, anyway. Regardless, I am doing my best to keep things as canon as I can (thank you, Wookieepedia!) beyond the fact that I'm probably gonna ignore _Rise of Skywalker _for as long as possible, because...well.

Also, be sure to note the pairings for this story: Poe x OC, and (eventual) General Hux x OC, because I'm That Person. Who the OC ends up with is still very much in the air.

Please be sure to leave a review or like if you enjoy this story! Now, without further ado...

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE  
****An Ordinary Day**

* * *

**_57 days before. _**

When the high-ranking Resistance officers needed to pay a visit to the D'Qar medical bay, they always asked for Jisella Lorian.

It wasn't that she was the most experienced surgeon on-world, or had some secret talent with bacta that sped up the healing process. It was simply that she was discreet, efficient, and always knew just what needed to be fixed—even when her patients' pride kept them from telling her themselves.

Her name was not well-known throughout the galaxy, and she'd never been considered a war hero. In fact, if one were to mention her name to any newcomer on base, they'd likely connect it to her family's famous diner in Coronet City than recognize her as the woman who'd brought countless Resistance members back from the brink of death. Jisella didn't care much, however; she hadn't joined the resistance for fame, and those who spent long enough on D'Qar came to know and respect her soon enough.

Jisella knew that General Organa trusted her, and she'd take that knowledge over fame any day. Even if the galaxy never knew her name, at least the great woman she'd spent her childhood admiring did.

Unfortunately, that didn't always work out in her favor.

It was a quiet day in the medical bay. Early morning light filtered in through a window, cold and bright against the sterile white equipment at Jisella's station. She was the only surgeon on duty, and save a couple of charging droids, she was completely alone. The last few weeks had been mercifully calm, and while the boredom made her fingers twitch and legs jitter, she was grateful. Less work for her meant less fighters were getting hurt.

She decided to use this rare bit of free time to scroll through her datapad. She took notes of which Resistance members were due for routine check-ups or vaccines and who needed their microsutures removed. Most officers were at least somewhat on schedule, but one name in particular stood out to her for his negligence.

Shaking her head, she began typing out a strongly-worded message to Commander Dameron, who was late on about six vaccines and had microsutures on his chest that had been in for a week too long.

Labelling the message **URGENT SECRET CORRESPONDANCE **(flashy titles were the only way to catch the pilot's attention—she'd learned that years ago), she clicked _send _and continued to work in comfortable silence for another hour.

The tranquility was broken by the sound of rushed footsteps, and Jisella glanced up from her datapad to see an out-of-breath Kaydel Ko Connix keeled over in the doorway.

"Lieutenant Connix!" exclaimed Jisella, jumping to her feet and rushing towards the woman, who struggled to control her breathing. "What's going on?"

Connix, still gasping, forced herself to stand up straight, the pupils of her brown eyes blown wide.

"General Organa...requests your presence...ran halfway across base to get here..." Connix managed, coughing into her hand. "Said it's urgent...she's in her quarters."

_Urgent_ was usually a code-word for _someone's dying,_ and while Jisella pondered why General Organa didn't use the datapad network to contact her, she immediately prepared to go. She grabbed her medical field kit and threw it over her shoulders, heading towards the door.

"I'll come with you," said Connix, and Jisella shook her head.

"You catch your breath, Lieutenant," she told her with an assuring grin. "I know where to go."

Connix didn't need to be told twice, collapsing instantly into the nearest available chair. Jisella ran out as soon as she did, racing down the corridors with such a clear tenacity that the crowded hallway made way for her automatically. It took her about three minutes to reach General Organa's quarters, and she threw the door open without knocking.

"Where's the patient?" she demanded breathlessly, barging into the room without sparing a thought to privacy. Time was of the essence in medical emergencies.

To Jisella's absolute confusion, the general was sat calmly at her desk. Jisella froze in place, her brows furrowing as Leia smiled at her.

"Punctual as ever, Doctor Lorian," the general praised, pointing to the man sitting across from her. "Your patient is right here."

Jisella immediately recognized him as Commander Dameron, and her confusion only continued to grow. He looked perfectly healthy—if not bored out of his mind—and he almost imperceptibly groaned at General Organa's words.

"I'm a bit confused," Jisella faltered, shifting all her weight onto one leg. "He's...not dying?"

Poe cocked an eyebrow at her unsteady tone. "You don't seem entirely sure of that fact. Is there something you know that I don't, doc?"

He was joking, but there was an underlying intensity to his tone, as though he was actually afraid he was dying and didn't know it. Jisella didn't entirely blame him; her intuition when it came to health was infamous—she'd once predicted Admiral Ackbar would develop a cold nine days before he did.

"It's not that, it's just—Lieutenant Connix came sprinting in like there'd been a massacre in the mess hall," explained Jisella, and Dameron rolled his eyes. "I figured something awful must've happened."

"The only awful thing that's happened is Connix thinking that overreacting will get her a promotion," Poe huffed, leaning back in seat. "There's no emergency. I'm alive and well."

Jisella was completely at a loss now. Not only was there no medical emergency, but it seemed like neither Leia nor Poe had even the slightest air of urgency to them. But she had still called Poe a patient, so why was she...

It suddenly hit her.

Jisella sighed. "General Organa, did you call me in here so I could give Commander Dameron his booster shots?"

"And take out his microsutures," she added cheerfully, turning to Dameron. "He's been avoiding you, and he's scheduled to go out on an important mission in two hours."

"I haven't been avoiding _her, _I've been avoiding the medbay," he amended, sounding incredibly petulant. "Actually—I haven't even been avoiding the medbay! I've just been busy." His tone was unconvincing, as evidenced from the disbelieving glance Jisella shared with the general.

"Well, you're not busy now," said Leia, getting to her feet. "So you do what Doctor Lorian tells you to do, so I can rest peacefully without worrying that you'll die of the common cold."

Jisella could hardly believe what she was hearing. Leia sounded like a stay-at-home mother trying to convince her rebellious teenage son to take his vitamins, not a war hero commanding her top pilot to take care of his health. Jisella supposed that was just how Leia Organa operated—especially with her favorite fighters—but it was still an absurd sight to bear witness to.

Leia moved to leave, and Jisella realized she intended for her to tend to Poe right in the middle of the office.

"Excuse me, General—I can't really do anything for him here," Jisella called out, and the older woman paused. "I brought my emergency field kit. Not much I can do for him with bacta bulbs."

"Take him back to the medbay with you, then," she answered. "Just be sure he doesn't try and make a run for it."

"Why are we talking like I'm not here?" Poe demanded furiously, leaping to his feet. His dark eyes were narrowed, and had he been speaking to anyone else Jisella was quite certain he would've shoved them into a wall. "I'm a commander of the Resistance, not a kid who can't wash his own hair."

General Organa's voice dripped with bemusement. "Then act like one."

Moving with an absolutely dramatic flourish, the general walked through the threshold to her bedroom, the door slamming behind her with what could only be an entirely unnecessary use of the Force. This did not bother Jisella much, however, as she now more a much more pressing situation to deal with. Specifically, a Poe Dameron-related situation to deal with.

Her shoulders slumped—and she thought today was going to be easy.

Dameron whistled through his teeth, dragging Jisella's attention away from the closed door and onto him. He was leaned up against the chair he'd been sitting on, his fingers drumming against his sides. His body language seemed relaxed at first glance, but Jisella could spot the way his jaw clenched when he swallowed and the hard set of his brow.

The conclusion she drew was obvious: Poe Dameron was pissed off.

Jisella took in a steadying breath. "So...if you want to follow me back to the med—"

"You just had to go and send that message, didn't you?" His eyes narrowed at Jisella from across the room. "Why'd you title it like that? I cut off Leia and everything so I could read it, and when she asked me what it was I couldn't lie to her."

Jisella's voice cracked with defense. "You never open my messages otherwise."

"Yeah, well, maybe I have more important things to deal with than—"

"Than your _health?" _Jisella hissed, her arms crossing over her shoulders. She wasn't a confrontational woman, but Dameron had a way of pressing all the wrong buttons. "Dameron, I don't know why you insist on letting your fear of medical facilities keep you from taking care of yourself."

"Who said I'm afraid of the medbay?" he lifted a brow. "Was it Snap? I'll kill him."

"Every time you come in for a check-up it looks like you're about to dive out a window," Jisella drawled, readjusting the shoulder straps on her emergency pack, which she now felt entirely ridiculous wearing. "It's written all over your face."

She met Poe's eyes. There was something open about the darkness of them, as if his entire soul was on display in their shadowy depths. Right now, they burned like two dying embers, his gaze so intense she knew she'd hit the nail on the head.

His words, however, betrayed nothing. "I didn't know you spent so much time looking at my face, Lorian."

Flirting and teasing—his usual defensive mechanisms. It worked on most of the base; half of them were in love with him, anyhow, and never saw past his pretty face and impressive flying skills. Jisella didn't fall for it; she'd been with the Resistance for six years, and had known Dameron for almost as long. And while she'd hardly go so far as to call him a friend, she was more than familiar with his old tricks.

"I'll drop it for now, Dameron, but you're still coming with me," she said, heading for the door and silently praying he'd follow suit. Disappointing General Organa was not on her to-do list for today, and if she had to deal with Poe's insurgent attitude for much longer she'd certainly develop a migraine.

To her inexpressible relief, he did follow her (though not without exclaiming "Bossy!" in a teasing lilt that made her roll her eyes), and they quickly were on their way.

The short walk back to the medical bay was insufferable. When one walked with Poe Dameron, it felt like the entire base's eyes were suddenly glued to them. Everyone wanted to know who was so important as to command his presence. Jisella was a particularly unexciting answer, though; no one gave any further thought to Poe Dameron walking with a medic, and she could feel the eyes leave her face as soon as they appeared.

When they arrived, Lieutenant Connix was nowhere to be found. She'd probably wised up and realized her overdramatic summons had been found out, and cleared the premises before anyone—namely, Poe—could chastise her for it. Jisella was almost disappointed; that meant she'd be forced to continue dealing with him alone.

"Take your clothes off and get on the examination table," Jisella ordered clinically as she moved towards her station, grabbing a pair of sterile gloves from a dispenser on her desk.

Poe let out a low laugh. "You're ordering me around a lot today, Lorian."

"It's best to be direct with difficult patients," she murmured while sifting through her datapad for Dameron's files. "I hope you don't take it personally."

"So I'm difficult now? he asked, Jisella only half-listening as she read over his file—he was _really _overdue for a lot of things.

"I said not to take it personally," Jisella sighed, opening up a drawer and pulling out all the necessary materials. "And yet here you are, taking it personally."

"I'm not taking it personally." His tone was so defensive that Jisella could only scoff in response. "Okay," he admitted after a few moments, "Maybe I am, but it's just because I respect your opinion of me so much."

Now it was Jisella's turn to laugh. "Yeah, sure," she simpered, turning to face him for the first time since he got on the examination table. Her eyes immediately widened and her jaw dropped in horror at what she saw—or rather, what she didn't see. "Dameron!" she snapped, shielding her eyes. "Why are you naked?"

"You told me to take my clothes off," he responded, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "I was just doing what you said, being my usual, _not-difficult _self."

"Put. The. Paper. Gown. On." She spoke through gritted teeth as her pulse spiked. While her profession often forced her to deal in the naked body, she had plenty of time to mentally prepare herself and remove herself from the non-clinical aspects of anatomy. This was...unexpected, to say the least, only made worse by the fact that Dameron had definitely just done it to spite her.

"I will, but you really need to learn to be clearer with your instructions," Poe tutted, and Jisella had to grab her desk to keep her hands from reaching out and strangling him. The sound of paper crinkling followed, and after a few moments he added, "All clear."

Jisella turned around slowly. To her relief, he'd done as she'd said, and was now covered by a paper gown so unflattering it could even make the great Poe Dameron look ridiculous. He knew it, too, from the way his lips were puffed out in a ridiculous pout.

"Alright," she breathed, her hands still clenched. "I'll administer the shots first—do you prefer your left or right?"

Poe smirked at her. "Awfully personal question, don't you think? Left."

"Excuse me?" Jisella squeaked, her voice going infuriatingly high. What did that even—oh. She bit her lip. "You know, it's generally considered a poor idea to mock someone who's about to stab you repeatedly with a sharp metal object."

"Come off it, Lorian," he rolled his eyes as she got the first needle into position. "You're way too professional for something like—_son-of-a-Wookie!" _

Jisella couldn't help the self-satisfied smirk that worked its way onto her lips as she pulled the needle out and grabbed the next one. She hadn't done anything terrible; she'd just pressed with more force than was strictly necessary. Poe looked absolutely murderous, but she couldn't be bothered to care—she did, however, administer the next five needles a bit more gently.

"Okay, now let's take a look at those microsutures," she said, throwing the used needles in the waste bin as Poe rubbed at his bicep in discomfort.

He glanced at her wearily. "You're not gonna rip them out with your bare hands, are you?"

"Why, Poe," she said, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm far too professional to ever do anything so barbaric as that."

The look he gave her in return was indecipherable, and there was an awkward (well, awkward for Jisella, at least) moment where the two of them stared at each other silently. Dameron's dark gaze was suffocating, and Jisella's body tensed up as his eyes swept over her frozen form.

Eventually, he shook his head and made to unbutton the part of the paper gown that covered his chest. "Since when did you get so fiery?"

"It comes out in times of great need," she joked, nodding to him with a mock-seriousness that had them both laughing.

His question wasn't off, though—she was in a strange mood today. It had to be the lack of work she'd had recently; she was going stir-crazy and the boredom was getting to her head.

That had to be it.

Poe finished unbuttoning the gown, and Jisella surveyed the tan expanse of skin for what she was set to remove—a strip of dark metal that had been inserted about a month ago, following a particularly nasty blow from a blaster that all but obliterated a section of the upper right quadrant of his chest. The skin around the microsutures was essentially healed, but because he'd waited so long to get them removed there'd definitely be scarring. Jisella didn't feel too bad; it was his fault, after all.

"I'm not a doctor, but I think the amount of time you've been staring at my chest could be considered unprofessional," Poe teased. "My eyes are up here."

His assumption was entirely incorrect, but Jisella still jerked her gaze from his chest to his face, her cheeks flushing red with frustration.

"Do you ever shut up?" she asked, grabbing a numbing agent and spreading it over the necessary areas. "Really—I'm serious. I'm struggling to think of a time where you haven't managed to ruin my mood with a cute comment."

She finished applying the numbing agent and gave it a moment to let it take effect, even though a part of her wanted to grab her tweezers and rip the microsutures out now.

"I'm sorry," Poe said, sounding entirely not sorry. In fact, Jisella would wager he was quite amused with himself. "It's just—when you're standing this close to me, I lose control of my actions."

"What are you talking about?" Jisella sighed, looking away from his wound and letting her eyes flick up towards his face. "You're acting extremely..."

She trailed off, realizing he was at least half-correct—his face was mere inches away from hers, so close she could smell the mint of whatever toothpaste he'd used this morning. His dark eyes were locked on hers, the always-surprising intensity of them locking her gaze in place, even though all her instincts told her to look away.

"You plan on finishing that sentence, Jisella?" he murmured, his tone softer than she'd ever recalled hearing it, his breath fanning against her mouth.

Jisella blinked slowly, as though hearing her first name on his lips was a numbing agent in and of itself. Her mind was screaming at her to say something, but her mouth couldn't find the words—it wasn't often she got trapped in the realization that Poe Dameron was an unfairly attractive man, but when she did, it was impossible for her to get out.

So she stood there, blinking dumbly as he stared back at her, the prologue to a smirk forming on his lips. And it was that expression—an indication that he was enjoying her momentary mental malfunction—that snapped her mind back into doctor-mode.

"The numbing agent should be effective by now," she said, her voice a bit breathier than she would've liked it as she pulled away from him. "Let me know if anything hurts."

Poe looked confused, her sudden change in demeanor clearly throwing him off, but Jisella would offer no explanation. She was still a professional first, and no matter how many smoldering, cocky looks Poe directed towards her that wouldn't change. Jisella had never given a second thought to any man before—no matter how attractive—and she had no intention of starting now.

He eventually nodded, indicating he understood her, and she took that as her cue to begin removing the microsutures. She moved quicker than she normally would, her actions a little less fluid than usual, but she managed to finish the job in less than ten minutes. The entire time she resolutely kept her eyes on his chest and not his face, and to his credit Poe remained silent for the whole procedure.

"All done—you can change now," she finally announced, stepping away and quickly turning so her back would be facing him. Her mind was still reeling from her momentarily lapse, and she wanted nothing more for him to change quickly and go off on whatever far-away mission General Organa had planned for him so that she could finally know some sense of peace.

The sound of clothes rustling told her he was changing, and—still turned away—she continued to speak, using her datapad as an excuse not to look at him. "The numbness should wear off in about twenty-five minutes; I gave you a low-level agent so you should be in the clear to fly your mission. If it doesn't go away, though, come back here before you leave—you don't want to lose feeling in one of your arms mid-flight. Otherwise, there's nothing else you need to worry about, but if you have any questions you know where to—"

Jisella froze, suddenly aware of a warmth radiating onto her back. It was certainly Poe, standing so he was not quite touching her but close enough that if she just leaned back an inch...

"Thanks for all your help, Doctor Lorian." His voice tickled the side of her face, and Jisella felt his arm brush against hers as he reached forward to put his medical gown down on the desk in front of her. She stared at his hand, entranced by its sure movements, as it retracted back to his side.

Her mind jumping into lightspeed, she murmured, "What are you up to, Dameron?"

"I'm not being difficult," he whispered back, and she could actually _hear _the smirk in his voice. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Just for an instant, his hand brushed against her waist, but before she could say or do anything he had disappeared through the medical bay doors.

Jisella was suddenly breathing as heavily as Connix had been when she came to retrieve her, her hands clutching onto her desk for dear life.

She couldn't believe she had expected today to be normal.


	2. The Black Leader

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Thank you all for your response to the last chapter; I really appreciated seeing that some folks are enjoying this story! Here is Chapter Two, but before you dive in, just a quick disclaimer—I'm not a doctor. I don't know much about the medical field, real world or _Star Wars _universe. So, please forgive any glaring medical malpractices you may encounter over the course of this chapter. ;)

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO  
**The Black Leader

* * *

**_55 days before. _**

"Good morning, Jisella."

Crea Soo, one of the other surgeons on base, greeted Jisella as she walked into the medical bay. She was a middle-aged Twi'lek woman with pale green skin and a perpetual glimmer in her dark eyes. She'd also been one of Jisella's first friends on base, and she couldn't help but grin at the sight of her. Their schedules hadn't overlapped in some weeks, and both of them were quite terrible at scheduling meetings outside of work.

But if things remained as quiet in the medical bay as they have been, then they'd finally be able to catch each other up on recent activities. As if on cue, an image of curly, dark hair and an inscrutable smirk flashed behind Jisella's eyes. She stifled a sigh—yes, she had a _lot _to talk to Crea about.

"There's something weighing on your mind," Crea exclaimed, spinning around in her station seat to stare down Jisella, her eyes sharply narrowed. "I can hear the gears whirring in your head."

Jisella blinked in surprise. "You certain you're not Force-sensitive, Soo?"

Crea laughed a bit at the concept, shaking her head. "No, I'm just old, and you have a very easy-to-read face. Now don't change the subject. What's the matter?"

"Are things still quiet around here?" Jisella asked, though she was already hoisting herself up onto Crea's examination table, trying not to take the comment about her face to heart. "Black Squadron's not back yet?"

The Black Squadron was Poe's latest project: a group of the Resistance's best pilots working together to complete a highly classified mission. For all her time spent with the Resistance leaders, even Jisella wasn't sure what they were doing. Just that it was a direct order from Leia, and very important—which usually implied a high level of danger.

"No, not yet," Crea assured her, something in her expression stiffening. "You'd know if they did."

Jisella hummed, forcing any images of bloodied and broken pilots from her mind. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"They'll be fine," Crea said, picking up on Jisella's wariness. "They're the best pilots in the galaxy, that bunch—especially that Dameron boy. I'm sure whatever General Organa has him doing, he'll get it done in no time at all."

The simple mention of Poe made Jisella's shoulders tense up, an inexplicable sense of embarrassment rising up within her. She bit her lip; suddenly she wasn't so sure if telling Crea about her interaction with him would be a good idea. While she certainly trusted Crea to keep a secret, Jisella couldn't help but worry that she'd somehow misinterpreted his actions.

Poe had never flirted with Jisella before, and she couldn't imagine why he'd suddenly start doing it now, after so many years of knowing her.

Then the phantom of his voice, low and breathy, rang in her ears. _"Isn't that what you wanted?" _

No. She couldn't be wrong.

"You know, speaking of Commander Dameron..." Jisella began, suddenly acquiring a great interest in a speck of dust on her uniform sleeve. "A few days ago I was performing some routine procedures on him, and the entire time he was acting...odd."

"Odd how?"

Crea's eyes were gleaming, her lekku twitching in excitement, and Jisella held back a groan. She shifted uncomfortably on the examination table, taking a moment to gather her thoughts on the matter. Despite the interaction dominating her conscious mind since it happened, she was still flummoxed by it all.

"To be blunt—he was being excessively flirtatious," she divulged, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "First he stripped down in front of me when I asked him to disrobe, then he stared into my eyes in an _incredibly _disarming fashion, and then he stood behind me and—"

The disgruntled huff Crea expelled from her mouth halted Jisella in her tracks.

"I'm going to stop you right there." Crea leaned back in her seat, her lips curled downward. "Leave it to you to make romance sound _boring. _You're being too clinical about the whole thing, Sel. I mean, you're gossiping about a handsome man, not diagnosing him with _horniness_—" Jisella opened her mouth to protest against the crude language, but Crea fixed her with a harsh glare— "He was clearly flirting with you. It's obvious. The real question now is—how did it make you feel?"

The question caught Jisella off-guard. In all honesty, she hadn't put much thought into that; she'd been far too obsessed with discerning whether or not he'd actually been flirting with her in the first place. And now that Crea was confirming her suspicions...

"It's Dameron," she offered by way of answer, blinking slowly. "He flirts with everyone on base. I shouldn't _feel _anything. It's just his way of getting what he wants."

"Then what did he want from you?"

"I don't know," Jisella murmured, throwing her arms up in defeat. "He hates the medbay. Maybe he was just trying to get me to stop talking so he could leave?"

Crea hummed, unimpressed. "You _really _think that's it?"

_No, not one bit. _But the words wouldn't leave Jisella's lips. The thought that Dameron might have suddenly developed an interest in her was far too confusing, especially this early in the morning.

"Of course I do," she lied. "I've known Dameron for years. He's just like that."

"Alright," Crea drawled, her expression flat. "If that's what you want to believe, Sel, then that's what you're going to believe."

Her tone gave Jisella pause. "Well, what else could it be?"

"Maybe he's developed feelings for you," Crea said, eyes rolling at what she likely perceived to be an obvious question. At Jisella's laugh, she added, "Don't discount the idea. You're an intelligent, attractive, young woman who doesn't fall for his usual druk. _And _you're available."

A blush bloomed in Jisella's cheeks. "I'm not available."

"Really?" Crea exclaimed. "You've finally found someone, then?"

"No, but I'm—" she paused for a moment, sifting through her mind for a suitable excuse— "I'm _busy." _

Crea glanced around the empty medical bay, her eyebrows lifted in bemusement, before turning back to face Jisella.

"Right," she simpered. "Busy."

Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, Jisella leapt off of the examination table and headed for her own station.

"Very busy!" she called back as she moved. "Besides, none of this matters, because Dameron isn't actually interested in me. He's just being Dameron."

Even as the words left Jisella's mouth, she knew they were falling on deaf ears. Crea was convinced Poe had an actual interest in her—that much was clear—even though Jisella refused to believe it was true. She'd known him for nearly seven years. In what galaxy did it make sense that he'd just show an interest in her now?

Still, as she returned to her work, the what-ifs continued to haunt her mind to no end.

* * *

**_52 days before. _**

Jisella awoke to a harsh knocking on her door.

"Doctor Lorian!" a desperate voice called from outside her quarters. "Are you in there?"

Blinking herself back into a conscious state, Jisella called out: "Yes!" and proceeded to drag herself from her bed. A yawn erupted from her throat. "Just a moment, please!"

She grabbed her robe from its hanger on the wall, taking a few seconds to throw it over her light nightgown before swinging the door open. Standing in the hall was Jessika Pava, one of the Black Squadron pilots, looking incredibly panicked and a bit more than worse-for-wear.

The mere sight of her jolted Jisella into full alertness; a pilot at her door in the middle of the night could mean nothing good.

"What happened?" she demanded, stepping out the door and closing it behind her. "What's the injury count, and how seriously?"

"Two of our squadron," Jessika answered promptly, her voice quavering as they walked briskly through the base, neither woman paying any attention to Jisella's state of undress. "We got engaged into a fire fight we weren't ready for. Kun got the brunt of it—Doctor Soo is operating now—but Commander Dameron got pretty beat up, too."

Jisella nodded, biting her lip. "Any preliminary diagnosis?"

"Soo didn't get the chance to examine him, but if I had to guess—probably a broken radius and a moderate concussion."

She let this information sink in for a few moments, her mind still rebooting after the sudden wake-up call. Neither of Poe's injuries sounded incredibly urgent, which was good. Crea had made the right call in taking Kun in first, from the sound of it.

"Was he conscious when you left?" asked Jisella.

Jessika nodded after some hesitation. "Yes, but he's...out of sorts."

That couldn't mean anything good. "How so?"

"Why don't you look yourself," Jessika deflected, her chin jutting towards the medical bay doors. They'd arrived quickly, thanks to their fast pace. "You'd understand what's going on better than me."

With a sigh, Jisella threw the doors open and strode towards her examination table with a clinical focus, shooing away the three uninjured Black Squadron members who still loitered around their commander.

They moved to reveal Poe Dameron, looking just about as rough as Jisella had ever seen him. His hair stuck to his forehead with a liquid that she could only hope wasn't blood, though the many scratches and contusions on his face left her pessimistic. His right arm rested limply in his lap, a clear crack in the bone visible beneath his tan skin. His eyes, though, they terrified her. Their usual sharp, focused gaze was diluted and hazy, his eyelids flickering. Poe was clearly struggling to remain conscious.

Jisella took a calming breath as she moved to grab her med-kit, ridding herself of any unprofessional thoughts that had been swimming around her head for the last few days. This was serious, and she refused to let her personal life interfere with her work. He had a concussion—a severe one at that—and a clean break in his arm. Nothing impossible to fix, but he'd be bedridden for at least two weeks, even with the help of bacta.

Her mind travelled to his reluctance regarding his vaccines—barely a blip compared to his current injuries. She didn't know how to tell him he'd be stuck in the medical bay for a few days.

Poe suddenly groaned in pain, and Jisella pushed the thoughts away. That'd be a conversation for later.

"Commander Dameron," Jisella greeted him, frowning at the way his eyes took a sluggish beat to reach hers. _Inhibited reaction time, _she noted. Unsure if memory loss was at play, she quickly added, "It's Doctor Lorian."

"I know who you are, Jisella," he slurred in response, still conscious enough to pout at her—an action that unintentionally caused blood to seep from a cut on his lip. "Did you expect me to forget my favorite doctor on D'Qar?"

Normally she'd roll her eyes at such a comment, but now she could only let out a sigh of relief. No signs of memory loss, then, and a clear sense of location to boot. Any significant brain damage would be unlikely as a result.

"How do you feel, Commander?" she asked, slipping her gloves on. "Are you in any pain?"

He made a move to shake his head, then stopped, wincing.

"'M fine," he forced out through gritted teeth. "Just a few bruises. I've had much worse."

Jisella _did _roll her eyes at that, grabbing a cloth and a bottle of disinfectant from her med-kit.

She nodded as she began to clean the wounds on his face. "Sure you have."

A yelp escaped her as he reached out and grabbed her wrist with his good arm, halting her mid-rub. Confused, she directed her attention to his eyes, which had suddenly turned lucid and hard.

"Don't patronize me," he hissed, his neck craning towards her—so close that the tip of his nose bumped against hers. "I'm okay."

Jisella froze up, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment due to their proximity rendering her immobile. The fire in his eyes was terrifying, but she couldn't look away. She'd probably have stayed in that position for far too long, had something not rolled off the examination table and jolted her back into reality.

"You have a broken radius and a moderate-to-severe concussion, Dameron." Her voice waved more than she would've liked as she pulled her hand from his grip. "You're not _fine. _You're seriously hurt."

His eyes dipped down to glance at his arm. His expression slacked, as though he just now noticed the ugly bump of bone pressing against his skin.

"Just slap some bacta on it," he demanded, shaking his head. "It doesn't even sting. I'll be fine to discharge as soon as you do. Just let—"

"Poe." His eyes widened in surprise; it had to be the first time Jisella had ever said his first name out-loud, and the experience was clearly jarring for him. "Broken limbs require a cast and a sling. And that concussion is going to keep you in the medbay for at least a few days."

He didn't say anything for a long time, long enough for Jisella to worry that his concussion was worse than she'd initially thought. His expression dimmed as he chewed at his bottom lip, completely oblivious to the scarlet droplets of blood the action produced.

She couldn't help but wonder what had traumatized him so much that he was scared of spending even a couple of days in the medical bay.

Something flickered in his eyes. "How's Karé? She—she got hit, didn't she?"

"Doctor Soo is with her now," Jisella assured him, her gaze drifting over his shoulder to where Crea had already submerged Kun in the bacta tank. She looked awful, much worse than Poe, but being in the tank meant she'd be fine. "You don't need to worry about her."

Poe took in a deep breath. "Alright."

They stood in silence for a few moments before Jisella pulled open a nearby drawer.

"What color cast do you want?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I've got red, orange, green, and blue," she listed off, forcing as much pep into her voice as possible. Annoying as he was, Jisella didn't like seeing Poe upset. "I'd personally suggest the green; I think it'd look good with your skin-tone."

Thankfully, her fake enthusiasm seemed to work somewhat. He visibly relaxed, his shoulders losing some tension and his usual smirk crawling over his lips.

"Your fascination with my bare skin continues to flatter me." He grinned, his eyes twinkling. "I'll trust you. Green it is."

Jisella grabbed the green material from her supplies, suppressing a small smile of her own. Even though she was trying to cheer him up, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of amusing her. Silently she moved his arm into the proper position.

"Be gentle with me," he half-begged, his voice low and his eyes wide as saucers.

Jisella couldn't resist a smirk of her own. "Only if you're good."

The look that bloomed on his face was downright sultry, and Jisella could only pray to the Force that he couldn't hear the way her breath inadvertently hitched.

"Only for you, Jisella," he purred, his face dipping close to her ear. "Though, I'd love the opportunity to be bad, if you'd let me."

Jisella's hands stilled their wrapping, her eyelids fluttering at the feel of his warm breath against her neck. She let herself be blanketed in the feeling, but she pulled away when she sensed him moving closer.

"If you're trying to charm me into letting you out of here early," she breathed, mouth suddenly dry. "It's not going to work."

She forced herself not to look at him, worried of what she'd discover if she did, though the airy laugh he released as a result of her proclamation made her head spin enough.

"Maybe not," he conceded. "How about an offer to get dinner together?"

_Kriff, Crea was right. _

Hoping the panic flooding her didn't show on her features, Jisella finished off his cast and took a few steps away from him, desperate to create some space.

"We eat in a mess hall," she said slowly, still not quite meeting his eyes. "Technically, we eat together every day."

"You and technicalities," he clucked, before something more sincere resonated in his tone. "Just a dinner, Jisella. I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Her lips pressed together. "I'll think about it."

"Really?"

"Yes, but only if you stop complaining about your treatment," she offered, entirely convinced he'd never agree.

Poe was quiet for a long time. "I accept your terms."

Force. Crea was never going to let this go.


End file.
